The story of a beachcomber. A white man who settles down in one of the South Sea Islands and lives by trading with the natives for copra--the dried kernels of cocoanuts--pearl shells, and the sea slug.
ave you some other trouble on hand?" said the doctor, rather impatiently, for he wanted the captain to go and leave him alone with his patient.
"Yes, don't you know?"
"I know nothing but that I have that poor boy lying there to be saved from death if it be possible. Can't you have a wind-sail lowered down here? The heat is intolerable."
"Wind-sail? You'll have wind enough directly. We're going straight into a typhoon, and no other course is open to me in this reef-strewn sea."
"Yes, and a bad one, I expect. It will be pitch-dark directly."
"The fresh air will be welcome," said the doctor, calmly.
"Is the captain here?" said a voice at the state-room door--a voice speaking in anxious tones.
"Yes; what is it?" said the captain, quickly. "Come on deck, sir. It's rushing upon us like a great wall. Hear it?"
Doctor Kingsmead turned his face for a moment towards the door, to hear a peculiar dull distant roar, different from any sound with whi